Jealousy is murder
by dyingforlove
Summary: The woman pointed the gun at Catherine, her finger resting on the trigger, the slightest movement would send the bullet into the CSI's skull.
1. Not again

It had been the perfect night. Girl meets guy. Guy buys girl a couple of drinks. They dance and have fun. And what do you know, they end up back at the guy's apartment. Rolling over to face her night's companion, she stared at him for a long time. Sighing heavily, she sat up, scratching the back of her neck before she swung her legs over the side of the bed.

Leaning forward, she closed her eyes and just rocked back and forth for a second, regretting last night terribly. She knew she shouldn't have done it. She hadn't been _that_ drunk, she could have refused. But everything at that point had just been so tempting. It had been so long. She couldn't refuse an offer from a man like _that_.

"Hey, that was great," he said, stretching. He leaned over to stroke her naked back, smiling.

"Don't get used to it," she said, standing up and taking the sheet with her to hide her naked form. She wandered around the room, picking up her clothes and slipping them onto her slender frame.

Then her cell phone rang. Walking over to the night stand, she flipped it open and held it to her ear. "Willows."

"Hey Cath, we've got a homicide here," Warrick said. "Gris said to have you come down."

"I'm on my way," she said after Warrick gave her the phone number. Shutting it and putting the phone in her jean pocket, she grabbed her jacket.

As she headed out the door, he grabbed her thigh. "Do I get to see you again?" he asked, grinning.

"Don't count on it," she said, breaking free of his grasp and walking out the door. She saw her car in the driveway, parked in a crooked fashion. She had been drinking and driving, or maybe she was just in a hurry to get inside. She couldn't remember which one.

Opening the door, she slipped inside and started her car. She pulled out of the driveway and drove off, not giving the man's house another glance as she headed off to work. Work always came first.

The crime scene was only a few blocks away, so she was there within a few minutes. The yellow police tape had been set up, and officers were scattered around the area. Getting out of her car, she opened up the back and got out her kit before she scanned the group of Law Enforcement Officials for Warrick.

He was within the boundaries of the tape, already processing the body. Thanking the officer that held the tape up for her, even though she still had to bend down to avoid it, she set her kit next to Warrick's and crouched down. "What do we got?"

The woman's face was swollen and puffy, bruises discoloring her face. Poor girl. She had to of had to suffer a major beating, and pain, before she died. Catherine sighed, looking at the silver watch on Warrick's wrist; three in the morning.

"Marissa Jones from Kansas," Warrick said, reading the driver's license he found in her wallet. Fiddling with her wallet, he pulled out a stack of receipts tucked away in a pocket. "She racked up quite a bill at the Monaco," he said, looking threw the receipts. "Quite a few bills, actually."

"Signs of struggle," Catherine commented, putting on her latex gloves and examining the woman's wrists which had abrasions on them.

Catherine looked up and down the large alley, watching cars go by. "People were close enough to where they could have seen this girl being beaten to death," she said in slight disgust.

"People in this town don't want to get involved in stuff like this. It's easier to look the other direction," Warrick said, but sounding equally disgusted. "It's Vegas."

"Yeah, It's Vegas alright," Catherine said, sighing heavily. Hitting Warrick gently on the shoulder, she motioned down the alley. "I'm going to take a look around, maybe the killer dropped something."

"Or killers," Warrick said. "Those were some major wounds that girl had."

This disturbed Catherine greatly. Greg was already in the hospital for suffering a similar fate along with two others, and one had died. A mere group of teenagers and a single adult who thought that beating tourists to death would be fun. But those kids were caught, weren't they? Or had they just influenced others, as the story had been all over the news. Along with the video from the cell phone, which didn't help anything.

She walked carefully down the ally, making sure to not over look everything as she directed her flashlight across the pavement. "I've got a blood trail," she called, crouching down to swab the little droplets of blood she found. "You think she got part of her killer?"

Warrick scraped under her nails, putting the substance into a small brown envelope and setting it neatly into his kit.

"Do you think we got all of the fanny smackers, or whatever they call it," Catherine said, walking back to Warrick's side and looking down at him.

"Well," he said, standing up. "The original group took their belongings. All of the money in her wallet is there, along with those expensive rings and her watch," he said, motioning to her hands. "I'm not sure what to make of this."

"Think that's her COD?" Catherine asked, motioning to the vic's battered face.

"I believe determining the COD is my job," David said, kneeling down next to the body, two coroners standing idly behind him. "The abrasions to her face and body could be fatal. But COD is undeterminable until the autopsy," he said, looking up brightly and motioning to the coroners. They put her in a body bag and carried her to the ambulance, and then they'd transport her to the morgue.

"Give me a call when Doc's done," Warrick said as David left, waving his goodbyes. Turning back to the scene, Warrick swabbed a trace of blood on the pavement. "You think our vic ran?" he asked, motioning to the street. The evidence so far supported it, but they just started the case.

Catherine had wandered off again, depending on her flashlight to see everything, although the street lights did prove to be a help also. She opened a dumpster, holding it open with one hand while she held the flashlight with the other.

"I've got something," she said, waiting for Warrick to take a hold of the dumpster lid before Catherine leaned forward to pull out a bloody towel. An officer came up with a big brown envelope, and Catherine set it in there. She took it from the officer, nodding her thanks as she turned back to Warrick. "Let's get this stuff to the lab."

Nodding, Warrick picked up his kit, but grabbed Catherine's arm before she got into the car. "Can I hitch a ride with you? My car's at home," he said with a sheepish grin.

"How'd you get here?" Catherine asked, quizzical.

"Wife dropped me off," he said, getting into the passenger's seat after they put their kits in the back of the car. He put on his seatbelt and shut the door, tossing a glance at her. Warrick's wife wasn't a prime subject for conversation between them. "She was on her way to her sister's," he said before Catherine could ask. "Things aren't looking good, Cath."

"You'll work it out," she said encouragingly. She backed out of the ally and headed towards the office, trying to ignore the awkwardness in the silence that had befallen on them.


	2. Bad memories

AWhat do you have for me, Hodges? Warrick asked, striding into the lab. He had been up for a couple of hours, trying to put the pieces of this case together. He had no such luck so far.

ASo I hear that its another tourist beating? Hodges said. AMaybe youve got the wrong peo-

AWeve got em, Warrick retorted irritably. He motioned to the lab equipment, raising his eyebrows.

AVery well, Hodges said with a deep sigh. He picked up some papers and handed them to Warrick. AThe blood on the towel matches your vics, and so does the blood Catherine found in the ally, he said.

He opened his mouth to say more, but Warrick had already turned around and started to leave. He didnt like Hodges. Impressing Grissom was his main priority, even if he had to make the others look bad to do it.

Warrick walked down the hallway, glancing around to see who was there at nine in the morning and who wasnt. Greg wasnt. He frowned slightly, remembering that the lively guy was still in the hospital. Poor kid.

AWarrick!

Warrick turned around to see Catherine walking towards him. She wore simple jeans, but a fancy black top. From the make up he barely ever sees on her, he guessed that she had been somewhere. Or with someone.

AI thought it was your day off, Cath? Warrick said, frowning. AI thought it was your day to spend with Lindsay? He sympathized Catherine at times. This job was so demanding, and you couldnt say AIll take care of it later when you got a phone call. It really took a toll on her relationship with Lindsay. And his relationship with his wife.

ALindsays sick again, Catherine said with a sigh of frustration. AShes staying with my mother.

AJesus, Cath, Warrick said. AIs she going to be okay? The poor kid hadnt gotten over her dads death completely, and recently being kidnaped really wore down on her physical and mental health.

AYou know how it is, with everything shes been going through, Catherine said, motioning back the way she came. AI just figured Id come here and, she sighed heavily. ATry and get some work done.

AWell Im on my way to see Doc, Warrick said, motioning behind him. AAnd all the blood at the scene matches the vic, he added as they started to walk down to the morgue. ASaras checking out the cell phone we found in her purse, he said, holding the door open for Catherine.

AGood, she said, walking up to where their vic lay. AAl, what do you have for us? she asked, smiling as the gray-haired man turned around.

AWell first of all, she was in extremely good shape. Her biceps are considerably large, he said, holding up the womans arm.

Catherine hadnt seen that earlier. Taking a closer look, she realized that the womans arms were well structured. In fact, she was just in overall in a good, muscular shape. AMere teenagers couldnt have done this then, she said, hoping she was right.

AWell. If the teenager came from behind and hit her with something like a crowbar, I imagine that they could, Al said, then motioned to Warrick. AHelp me flip her over. After that task was done, he pointed to a spot where he had shaved the hair from her head. ABlunt force trauma to the back of the Cerebrum, and they hit her again in the Medulla oblongata, he said, pointing to a large bruise to the back of her neck. AHe hit her in the oblongata first, but since a blow like that wouldnt kill her, they hit her again in the back of the head.

AWas that the COD? Warrick asked, pointing to the wound on the back of her head.

AI was getting to that, Al said, holding up a patient finger. ABut first, well need to flip her over again.

Once on her back, the doctor held up her wrists, brushing his fingers over the abrasions to her wrists. AThese type of defensive wounds are often related to sexual assault, but she wasnt raped, he added as Catherine opened her mouth to say something.

ARough sex, Warrick asked, exchanging looks with Catherine.

ANope, he said, shrugging. ABut the killer was on top of her in order to make these abrasions.

AWhy would he do that? Warrick wondered aloud.

AYoure supposed to answer that question, not me, he said, smiling. AAnd if this helps at all, Id put her time of death somewhere around one oclock in the morning.

AThanks, Warrick and Catherine said as they walked out the door.

AWar, Cath, Brass greeted, turning around to walk with them as they headed back towards the lab. AWeve got someone who says that they saw Melissa at a bar about two blocks away from where her body was found. Theyre here now, he said.

Warrick and Catherine exchanged glances, and followed Brass to the interrogation room. A man sat there, a white tee shirt and jeans adorning his body. He had thin blonde hair, with a massive amount of gel in it. He was slightly overweight.

AMr...Rogers, Catherine said, looking at the folder Brass had given her before she had entered the room. AYou told Captain Brass that you saw Melissa Jones at a bar you work at last night? she inquired, locating a picture of Melissa in the folder. She slid it over to him so he could get another look.

After a moment of examination, he nodded his head. AYeah. She arrived around nine oclock last night. Im not sure when she left, though, he said, handing back the picture.

Catherine took back the picture and putting it back in the folder. AWas she with anyone, or did anyone talk to her? she asked. Melissa was a fairly pretty girl, it wouldnt be surprising if she had met someone at the bar or if she had been seeing someone.

He shook his head, but then stopped and nodded. AWait. Yeah. Some guy paid for her drink, but she refused it.

This jolted Catherine in the gut. Memories flooded back to her and her head suddenly began to pound. AWhat did this guy look like? she asked, rubbing her head momentarily.

AAbout six feet tall, brown hair. He had a mustache, he said, as if thinking. AYeah. Im pretty sure thats what he looked like. But thats all I have for you, Im sorry, he said, frowning. ADoes she have any family? he asked, although he seemed afraid to hear the answer.

Catherine stalled for a moment, then opened the folder and flipped through a few pages. Reaching Melissas file, she nodded slowly. AShe has a daughter that lives in Kansas, she said slowly.

Rogers sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. ADamn. Poor kid, he said sympathetically. Catherine decided not to say that the Apoor kid was actually 18 now. In Catherines book, an eighteen year old was still a kid.

AWould you be willing to describe this man to a sketch artist? Catherine asked, putting her hands on the table, leaning forward slightly.

Mr. Rogers thought about it for a moment, but then nodded slowly. ASure, but I cant do it right now. I stopped by here on my way to work, and Ive got a wife and two kids too feed, he said standing up and holding out his hand. AIt was nice meeting you, Mrs?

AWillows, she said, shaking his hand, smiling briefly. ACaptain Brass will show you out, she said, following him out of the room.

Brass was there waiting, then walked with Mr. Rogers towards the entrance. Catherine and Warrick watched them go, both of them looking reasonably unhappy.

AMaybe the rejected guy gets a little offended when she refuses his generous donation? Warrick said, stroking his chin. AWhat do you think?

AMaybe, Catherine said, following Warrick down the hallway. ABut the suspect having a crowbar almost makes me think that they were _waiting_ for her. A dark ally isnt a good place for a lonely girl to wander, she said, entering the lab where Sara was. AWhatd you get off her phone? she asked, putting her hands on the table as Sara played with a pink cell phone.

AMelissa made two 911 calls the night she died, Sara said. AThe first one was made at 12:02 a.m. while the second was made five minutes later, she said, looking up. AShe also made a call to someone else at about six thirty earlier that night. The name I got on here is...Nicholas Beam.


	3. Anything for you

Catherine knocked on the door to Nicholas Beam's home, looking through the window that was right next to the door. It was a pretty house; on the inside and outside. It was painted white, the shutters and such were black. Flowers bloomed in the front, as well as in baskets hanging from the windowsills. The yard was well taken care of, fresh green grass covering the small amount of land the people owned. And from what she could see on the inside, Nicholas enjoyed the antique theme, as some pieces of furniture in the hallway looked fairly old.

Besides the officer that accompanied her to make sure there would be no "problems", she was alone. Warrick had gone to talk to the dispatcher who received the 911 calls, and Sara had a double homicide with Nick. And Grissom was being, well, Grissom.

The door opened, and a rather attractive young man stood in the doorway. He wore gray slacks and a white shirt with a gray dress coat that matched his slacks over it. His black hair was slicked back, and he was newly shaven. "How may I help you?" he asked, leaning against the door frame.

Catherine smiled briefly before getting down to business. "I'm Catherine Willows with the crime lab, do you know a Melissa Jones?" she asked, watching the surprised look come over his face.

"Yeah, yeah. I know her," he said, stepping aside so she could come in.

She nodded her thanks, looking around the room as she entered before stopping and turning around to face him as he shut the door.

"What do you need to know about Melissa?" he asked, motioning to another room as he walked in and sat down in a lounge chair.

Catherine took a seat on the couch, setting her kit next to her. "Melissa called you last night around six thirty, what did she say?" she asked, realizing how weird this must sound to him.

He gave her a weird look, but answered at once. "She asked if I wanted to have a couple of drinks with her. But my kid had a soccer game at six, so I had to say no," he said, looking fearful. "Did something happen to Melissa?"

"Mr. Beam, Melissa was killed last night," Catherine said, not even flinching when Nicholas visibly fell apart.

He ran his hands through his hair, and sniffled quietly. Sighing he looked at Catherine. "How did she die?"

"Someone hit her in the back of the head with a hard object," she said, looking down slightly so she didn't have to look at his depressed face anymore. "How did you know Melissa, Mr. Beam?"

Nicholas laughed softly, sniffling again. "We've been best friends since middle school," he said, smiling weakly. "We dated for a little while during highschool, but broke up because it was too weird," he said, laughing again. He sighed shakily, running another hand through his hair again. "My son loved Mel."

"You two got together often?" Catherine asked, taking notes.

"Yeah. She came over almost every other day to see Jason, my son," he said, motioning to the pictures of a small boy sitting on a table nearby. "She was the mother figure in his life after his mom left when he was five." A tear rolled down his face. "God, what am I going to tell him?" he said, asking nobody.

"Have you heard from your wife since she left?" Catherine asked, glancing at the grinning pictures of his son again. A cute little kid.

"Ex-wife," Nicholas corrected, looking around the room. "No. She was suffering from depression. Then I caught her using heroin, I told her to pack her stuff that night," he said. "For the first two weeks she called every hour, begging to let her back into the house. But after a while, she got the idea that I wasn't going to let her come back around our son in her current state, so she just stopped calling. I don't know where she is now," he said.

"How old is your son now, Mr. Beam?"

"Thirteen."

Catherine couldn't contain herself this time. She frowned sympathetically. God, poor kid. He was about Lindsay's age. She saw Mr. Beam look at the clock, it was three o'clock in the afternoon. Lindsay got out at two thirty eight. She imagined that he was counting down the minutes until his son gets home.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxXxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

"I received the first call at 12:03 a.m.," the dispatcher told Warrick, typing something onto her computer. "Here's the message," she said, hitting 'enter'.

"_911, what's your emergency." _

There was series of high pitched sobs, obviously coming from a woman.

"_Ma'am, what's your emergency?" _

"_Please...please help me."_

"_What's your name, ma'am."_

A series of sobs answered the dispatcher, and Melissa started ranting random things.

"_It's following me...It's going to kill me. P-please help me." _

"_Calm down ma'am, where are you?" _

The phone went dead.

"That phone call lasted two minutes," the dispatcher said, typing again. "Here's the second call."

"_911, what's you're emergency?" _

"_HELP ME"_

The scream of the woman pierced Warrick's ears, and from the way she breathed into the phone, it sounded like she was running. The woman's terrified sobs tore at his heart.

"_Please. My name...is...Melissa, and I'm...at-oh my god." _

For the second time the phone died, and all there was left was silence.

"That's all there is, Mr. Brown," the dispatcher said after a few seconds.

"Alright," he said with a heavy sigh. "I'll need those tapes," he said, taking the two tapes the dispatcher handed to him. "Thank you," he said, then headed out the door and to his car.

Picking up his cell phone, which sat in the passenger's seat, he dialed Catherine's number and held the phone up to his ear as he pulled out into the street.

"Willows."

"Hey Cath, the two tapes don't have much, but I'm on my way back to the lab, did you get anything from Beam?"

"Yeah. Apparently Melissa called him and wanted to go out for drinks, but I'm going to pull up her phone records and see how long the conversation lasted for. Lindsay knows Mr. Beam's kid, Jason."

Warrick frowned slightly. She sounded so tired. "Go home, Cath," he said, looking over his shoulder as he turned down another road. "I'll pull up the phone records and everything else, and fill you in in the morning."

At first he thought she'd refuse, but after a few seconds of silence he heard her say "Thank you."

"Go spend time with Lindsay," he said softly, shutting his phone and tossing it in the passenger's seat. He sighed heavily. "Anything for you," he said, almost in a whisper as he pulled into the Crime Lab's parking lot.


	4. Healing & Letting go

A/N: This chapter's a bit short. Sorry.

Catherine pulled into the driveway of her home; something she was seeing less and less of as time went on, it seemed. Getting out of the car, she checked her watch. It was 5 o'clock, probably the earliest she's been home in weeks. Months, even. It was a shame that she'd have to go back to work in just a couple of hours.

Walking into her house, she walked into the living room, where Lindsay was laying on the couch watching t.v.

"What are you doing home so early?" she asked, still sounding a little stuffed up. She caught a cold somehow, even though it was summer in Las Vegas right now.

"I got off early today," she said, walking to her daughter and kissing her on the forehead. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," she said as her mother walked away into the adjoining kitchen. She turned around to watch her. "How did work go?" she asked.

"Terrible, as usual," Catherine said with a heavy sigh. "Where's grandma at?" she asked, noticing her mother wasn't around.

"She ran to the store really quick," Lindsay said. "I told her I wanted ice cream, and we ran out," she added innocently.

Catherine smirked. Pulling out a packet of instant-make hot chocolate, because she had a weird yearning for some, she turned back to her daughter as she poured the mix into a mug. "Want some hot chocolate?"

"With a giant marshmallow," she said, watching her mother add hot water into her mug. She got another packet of the hot chocolate, and a bag of marshmallows. She dropped one marshmallow into the cup, then walked over to give it to Lindsay.

She took it happily, taking a sip and watching her mother make herself another cup. "If you hate your job so much, why don't you get a new one?"

Catherine forced herself not to sigh heavily. She knew where this was going. Conversations like this usually ended up with them both yelling at each other and Lindsay getting grounded.

"Because, seeing the bad guys get caught in the end makes it worth while."

"How many kidnaping cases do you get," Lindsay asked hesitantly as her mother sat down beside her.

Catherine readjusted herself on the couch so that she faced her daughter, brushing a piece of her blonde hair behind her ear. "A lot. But I haven't been so determined to find the children as I was when I was trying to find you," she said, lowering her head so that she could see eye-to-eye with Lindsay.

Lindsay smiled briefly. "Well you should," she said, turning back to the television. "Because some other kid's mother goes through the same thing you do when their child is taken." And that was the end of it.

Catherine smiled, kissed her daughter on the head, then got up and disappeared into the bathroom. Nights like this were perfect for a hot bath. _And someone to share it with,_ she thought as she shut the door.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxXxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Warrick watched the fax machine as the phone company sent him all of Melissa's outgoing and incoming calls for the last six months, looking through the stack for any visible patterns. Not seeing any at the moment, he set them on the table in the break room and took a look at his pager when it went off. Hodges had something.

He walked down the hallway, glancing at the clock as he passed it. 5:15 p.m. Another couple of days without sleep. The graveyard shift would start in a couple of hours, stifling a yawn, he decided maybe he could take a nap in the break room after he visited Hodges.

"I've identified the substance under the vic's finger nails," Hodges said as Warrick entered the room. "It's skin particles."

"Well I figured that," Warrick said, perhaps a little too irritably. The lack of sleep and Hodges all mixed together made him a bit cranky.

"Well did you figure this?" Hodges said matter-of-factly, handing Warrick a sheet of paper. "The skin particles are female."

Okay, so he hadn't known that. He took a look at the paper, skimming through it. "Thanks Hodges," he said, turning to walk out of the room.

"Come back when you have something to compare it too!" Hodges called after him.

On his way back to the break room, his cell phone rang. He flipped it open.

"Brown."

"Warrick, it's me."

The sound of his wife's voice startled him.

"Hey, baby," he said, shutting the door to the break room after he walked in. "How's everything at your mother's?"

"It's fine," she said. There was a few moments of silence. Neither of them wanted to get to the point of the conversation. Because neither of them knew what to expect from the other.

"Warrick," she sounded frustrated. "You know I love you, but-"

"And you know I love you," Warrick said, sighing heavily. "But I'll make this easy on you, I'll say it. I'm not quite sure if I love you _enough_."

There was a moment's silence. "Thank you," she said softly, then hung up. Warrick sighed heavily, rubbing his face with his hand. Pushing a few buttons, he dialed another number.

"Hey Dom, it's Warrick Brown. Listen, um, I need some divorce papers."


	5. Close encounter

The only source of light was the fireplace, the flames flickering as the wood slowly deteriorated from the heat. Not necessarily from the fire, sweat beads clung to his muscular body as he laid in bed, thoroughly exhausted but extremely happy at the same time. He looked up at the white ceiling, his mind wandering until he felt a soft hand run up his chest.

"Warrick."

His eyes snapped open and he almost fell of the couch when he saw Catherine staring down at him, smirking.

Standing up, he smoothed out his wrinkled clothes, then looked at the white Styrofoam boxes she held in her hands. Pointing the boxes with high hopes, he asked "What's in there?"

"Dinner," she said, setting the boxes down on the table. "I got you the Teriyaki steak, I forgot what you liked," she said apologetically as she handed him the box.

He loved the Teriyaki steak. It was his favorite meal, but he just nodded and took the box. "Thanks, Cath," he said, silently chiding himself about his dream.

"I smell food," Nick said, walking in. He took a box Catherine handed him, sitting down next to Warrick and opening the plastic bag that held the silverware. "So what's new?" Nick said, his mouth half full with food.

"Still on the Melissa Jones case," Catherine replied, setting the remaining boxes in front of the three remaining seats. She took one of those seats, sitting on Warrick's other side and opening her box to look at the small salad she had ordered.

Sara was the next to walk in. "Thanks Cath," she said, sitting down after Catherine motioned to what box was her's. Sara took a bite of her salad, thankful that Catherine had found a restaurant that had salad _without_ meat.

"Did you already close your case?" Catherine asked, looking at Nick and Sara.

They both nodded, but it was Nick who answered. "Yeah. The guy was in the system and he left his fingerprints all over the place. I think it's a new record, actually," Nick said, glancing at Warrick with a smirk. "Took us two days to get the guy."

Catherine smiled. The competitiveness between the two guys was what made their friendship so strong. Exchanging an amused glance with Sara, they looked on as Nick and Warrick made a $15 bet on who would win the baseball game tonight.

"Nick, Sara, you've got another homicide. Home invasion gone bad," Grissom said the moment he walked into the break room.

"Good evening to you too," Nick said, taking the folder Grissom held out. He opened it and took a look at it, Sara leaning over so she could see also.

Turning to Catherine and Warrick, he pointed at them. "You're still on the Jones case?" he asked, as if too make sure that he was still on the same page as everyone else.

"Yeah," they said, nodding their heads.

"Okay. Then I'll take this case," he said, bringing the last folder he held to his chest.

Warrick glanced at the clock, slapped his hands on the table, and stood up. "Here we go again," he said, meaning their shift had started.

Nick and Sara headed out first, and Warrick held the door open for Catherine as they headed back into tears, grief, and just flat out chaos.

"So I took a look at her phone records," Warrick said as they entered a room where all the things of Melissa's were located. Along with the phone records, which he had moved into this room before he had fallen asleep. "And there's a consistent pattern of phone calls almost once a week, and sometimes everyday," he said, pointing to the numbers he highlighted in pink. "It's not Mr. Beam's number," he said, motioning to the other, less frequent numbers that he highlighted in yellow. "But those are."

"Okay," Catherine said slowly, thinking aloud. "So someone who's not Nicholas calls her more frequently than he does. Did you check up on the number?" she asked, looking up at him.

He shook his head. "But Hodges told me that the skin under the vic's fingernails was a female's," he said, letting it sink in.

"Nothing like a cat fight, but over what?" Catherine said, looking at the pictures of Melissa from autopsy.

"How long does it take to refuse a date to the bar?" Warrick asked, looking closer at the phone records.

Catherine leaned over, resting a hand on his shoulder so she could get a closer look. "Thirty minutes tops," she said, realizing where Warrick was going with this. "An hour and a half is pushing it."

"Let's get Mr. Beam in here," Warrick said, turning to find Brass. But he didn't need too, because the Captain walked in right then.

"There'll be no need, Mr. Beam is already here," he said, then looked at Catherine. "And he's looking for you."

Catherine raised her eyebrows, exchanging looks with Warrick. Nonetheless, she followed Brass to the interrogation room, stepping inside and nodding to Mr. Beam.

He stood up impatiently, looking very flustered. "My ex-wife has contacted me," he said. "She's demanding to see Jason."

"Mr. Beam, what were you talking to Melissa about for an hour and a half the night of her death?" Catherine asked, sitting down.

"What?" he said breathlessly, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know. We talked about a lot of things," he said, slamming his hand on the table. "But my son needs protection from that crazy bitch!" he said.

"What did your ex-wife say to you?" Catherine said, folding her hands on the table.

Sitting down impatiently, he sighed heavily. "She said she was in town and that she wanted to see Jason," he said calmly, but then started sounding frantic again. "Jason needs to be moved to somewhere el-"

"Are you sure your wife's just not bluffing?" Catherine asked. She had heard of mothers who had wanted back in their child's life after they had abandoned them.

"She knew the layout of my house," he said, sounding frightened. "And we've moved since she left, and we aren't listed in the phone book."

The door opened, and Warrick walked in. He had the phone listings in his hand. Setting them in front of Mr. Beam, he pointed to the number highlighted in pink. "Mr. Beam, do you have caller i.d.?"

"Yeah," he said, sound skeptical. "But what does that have to do with-"

"Do you recognize this number?" Warrick said, motioning to the phone number in pink.

"Yeah. That's the number my ex-wife called me on!" he said frantically, standing up. "Did she contact Melissa. Did she hurt her?!"

Warrick and Catherine exchanged frantic glances. Catherine leaned forward. "Mr. Beam, are you sure this is the number your ex called you on?" she asked, she didn't want to make some arrests unless he was absolutely certain.

"I'm positive!" he exclaimed, standing up again. "I know because I blocked her number after I hung up on her!"

Catherine stood up, and Warrick left the room quickly. "We'll get your ex-wife, Mr. Beam, where's Jason now?" she asked, leading Mr. Beam out of the room.

"He's...He's at home with a babysitter," he said, sighing heavily. "I can't believe this. Did she hurt Melissa?" he asked frantically as they walked out into the parking lot.

"That's what we're going to find out, Mr. Beam," she said as he got into his car. But then he started to sob, and a pang of sympathy hit Catherine. "I'll drive you home," she said, motioning for him to get into the passenger's seat. "I'll have a co-worker pick me up at your house."

"Thank. You." he said in between sobs, getting out of the driver's seat and walking around the car to get in the passenger's seat.

Catherine got in, then called Warrick and told him to pick her up at the Beam household in about fifteen minutes. As she pulled out of the drive, she glanced at Mr. Beam. "Everything will be okay, Mr. Beam," she said, smiling weakly.

He nodded profusely, as if it took a lot of effort to believe it.

A few minutes later they arrived at his home, and Catherine's heart sunk as she stared at his home. The front door was wide open.

"Jason!" Mr. Beam yelled, getting out of the car and running into the house. "Jason!"

"Mr. Beam!" Catherine called, pulling out her gun and following him inside the house. Everything was silent. She no longer heard Mr. Beam, or even footsteps against the wooden floors. She cleared the kitchen and the bathroom and made her way down the hallway.

She saw a few drops of blood on the floor. She pulled out her cell phone, dialing a number and holding the phone to her ear.

"Drop it!"

The firm command made Catherine twirl around, seeing a woman standing in the middle of the hallway, a gun held to Jason's head. The boy was sobbing heavily, saying something that Catherine couldn't hear.

She dropped the gun, listening to it rattle on the wooden floor with a sort of despair overwhelming her. Dammit.

"Drop the phone too!" the woman yelled, and Catherine did so.

Catherine held her hands up, shifting her position slightly. "Are you Jason's mother?" she asked calmly, trying not to look at the crying child.

"Yeah. And he's going with me!" she said, holding him tighter.

"Jason is Nicholas Beam's son now," she said loudly, glancing down at the items she had been forced to drop.

"No!" she said, pointing the gun at Catherine. "He's my son! Mine!" She sounded desperate, and Catherine could tell the woman herself was on the brink of tears. Glancing down at her son, she cooed to him. "Shh, it's okay hunny, don't cry." This didn't seem to help, as the boy only cried louder.

"Look. Mrs...Beam," she said, walking a few steps to the right. "My name is Catherine Willows, I'm with the-"

"I don't give a fuck who you are!" she screamed, a tear rolling down her cheek. "This is my son. And he's coming with me and you're not going to stop me!" she yelled, flailing her gun around. "That little bitch tried to take my place, but I took care of her!" she said, cackling.

"Freeze!" Warrick now entered the house, facing Mrs. Beam's back. "Put down your weapon now!"

She pushed her son down to the ground, then turned around quickly and shot at Warrick. Luckily she missed, but it distracted him long enough that she charged down the hallway, pushing down Catherine and busting out the back door and into the night.

"Cath!" Warrick said, rushing over to her after he checked out the kid. "You alright?"

"I'm fine," she said, accepting the hand Warrick offered and being hauled to her feet. She went over to Jason and gathered him in her arms, cooing to him and hugging him tightly.

Warrick disappeared into the other room, then came back out with the cell phone glued to his ear. "This is CSI Brown, I need a bus immediately," he said. When Catherine looked up at him quizzically, he motioned to the room he had entered moments before. "Mr. Beam is knocked out cold, he'll be alright though."

"Thank God," Catherine said, still holding the sobbing child tight.


	6. Lindsay

"Is the kid going to be okay?" Brass asked as Catherine came out of the interrogation room after just talking to the kid.

"He's going to need some therapy," Catherine said with a heavy sigh. "He watched his mother kill his favorite baby sitter," she said, shaking her head in dismay. "But he's physically alright, his mother didn't harm him, the one thing she probably did that was right."

Brass frowned, shaking his head. "Yeah. I just got a call from the hospital; the husband is going to be all right too. He just got out of surgery. I'll have an officer take the kid over to him," he said, motioning back to the interrogation room.

Catherine sighed again. "Do we have any lead on where the ex-wife went?" she asked. She couldn't stand that good people were put through so much, but the murderer of a motherly figure and a best friend couldn't be brought to justice.

"No," Brass said, rubbing the back of his head. "Sorry. But the ex-wife is named Gloria Manson," he said. "She is like a ghost, we don't have her in the system, and she has no credit cards or anything of the sort. She's always paid with cash," he said with a defeated sigh. "No social life, and Mr. Beam says that he doesn't know anything about her after she left. No one else seems to know her either," he said.

"Someone has to know something," Catherine said determinedly. "They just aren't talking." As the two walked down the hallway, an associate handed her a folder. Opening it up, looking at the contents. "Okay, so we've got a friend from high school who says that Gloria contacted her a couple of days ago and wanted to get together. She's here now," Catherine said, motioning to a room ahead.

Opening the door, she looked at the folder as she sat down. "Mrs. Wallace," she said, setting the folder on the table. "When exactly did Gloria Manson call you?" she asked, folding her hands on the table and looking at the young woman as she shifted uncomfortably.

"She, um, called me about three days ago," she said, sighing in frustration. "I c-can't remember what day exactly, I'm sorry." After being motioned to continue, she breathed deeply and hesitated for a second. "She asked me if I knew where Nicholas lived, and I said I didn't, even though I did. She called me a bitch and said that she'd kill me," she said, shuddering. "I found my dog in the front yard with a bullet in it's head a day later."

Catherine couldn't believe this woman. She seemed to stop at nothing to get reunited with her son, but yet she was the one who didn't want him back until eight years after she got kicked out. She couldn't understand it.

"Have you heard from her since?" Catherine asked, jotting down a few notes about her statement.

Mrs. Wallace nodded. "She called me yesterday, she said that she was sorry and that she wanted to get together and catch up on things. I said that I'd love too, but I had to work that day," she sad, sighing heavily. "Gloria was always the hard-core type in high school, if someone talked shit about her then she'd beat the shit out of them," she said, laughing briefly.

Catherine nodded, writing down a few more things. "Mrs. Wallace, is there anything else you can tell us?" she asked as she and Mrs. Wallace stood up.

She shook her head. "No. I just hope that you get her, and I'll let you know if she calls me again," she said as she walked out the door. Catherine watched her walk out the door before turning to Brass, who was waiting outside. "You hear that?" she asked as they walked towards the break room.

"Yeah. She sounds like she's the type of person that believes in an eye for an eye," he said, frowning a bit. "So, what's next?"

"I'm not quite sure," she said with a sigh. "Do you know where Warrick is?"

"Didn't you hear?" Brass said, opening the door for Catherine and they both sat down. He continued when he saw Catherine's blank face. "He's getting a divorce from his wife," he said.

Catherine looked utterly surprised. "Oh my god," she said softly, looking down at her hands. "I wonder why he didn't tell me."

"Oh, well, if it makes you feel better, he didn't tell me either," Brass said, looking a bit guilty. "I caught a glimpse of the divorce papers in his locker," he said with a frown.

"Wow," she said, shaking her head in disbelief. She had never would of thought that Warrick and his wife would have gotten a divorce. She wondered who had brought it up. Although she felt deepest sympathy for Warrick, something inside her made her happy that he and his wife were finally over. Warrick was very attractive, yes, but she had never imagined herself with him. Dreamed, maybe. But she never thought about it, because she figured it would never happy. _Calm down, Cath._ She told herself. _He'd never be interested in you_.

"Hey, guys," Warrick said, entering the break room. He looked rather tired, and sounded just a little stressed out. Sitting down, he looked at Catherine. "Sorry I'm late. So what do we have on Gloria?"

Catherine at first thought about telling him how sorry she was, but then she decided against it. He would say so when he felt comfortable. It was only a matter of time. "Well, a high school friend of Gloria's stopped by," she said, filling him in on everything that Mrs. Wallace said.

"So," Warrick said, leaning back. "We've basically got nothin'?"

"Pretty much," Catherine said with disappointment, slapping her hands on the table.

"Well," Brass said, standing up. "I'll put out a watch for Gloria, and I'll see if anyone tells me anything," he said, walking out of the room.

Warrick sighed, running a hand through his hair, then looked at Catherine. "So what's the next step?" he asked, putting his hands on the table.

Catherine sighed, shaking her head and laughing helplessly. "I don't know," she said, shrugging. "Wait to see if Brass gets anything, I guess," she said.

"Um, excuse me, Catherine Willows?"

Catherine turned around to see a police officer opened the door, looking over at her with a little concern. "Yes?" she asked, wondering if this was some sort of warning from Child Services again. Let's hope that that won't happen ever again.

"I'm told that I could find you here," he said, stepping inside and shifting his weight a little nervously. He looked down at his feet. He couldn't meet her gaze.

"Well, here I am. What is it, officer?" she asked a little irritably.

"Are you the mother of Lindsay Willows?" he asked as if he was hoping that she really wasn't. He must be a new guy or something.

That rang an alarm off in Catherine's head. She and Warrick standing up, she walked closer to the officer. "Yes. What happened?" she asked urgently, sounding a little angered. "Did Lindsay get into some sort of trouble?" It would be just like Lindsay. She had been getting in trouble lately, and Catherine didn't know what to do besides ground her.

"No," he said, laughing nervously. He shifted his weight uncomfortably.

"Well say it, officer," Warrick snapped, noticing that Catherine was starting to look a little jumpy.

"Look, ma'am," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "We got a call from a neighbor of yours, and she said that she heard noises and called the police to go check it out. We found your mother dead in the home, and a kidnapping of your daughter is what we suspect."

"No…" Catherine felt her legs grow weak, and she would have fallen if Warrick wasn't there to catch her before she hit the ground. He brought her close to him. She grabbed onto his shirt, the tears falling from her eyes immediately.

Warrick wrapped his arms around her, looking at the officer who was about to walk out of the room. "You ain't done here!" he snapped, making the officer stop immediately. "What the hell are you doing to find her? Why wasn't we informed earlier?" he asked, still having a hold on Catherine even after she pulled away slightly to look at the officer.

"Take me there. Right now," she said, whipping the tears from her eyes. She needed to find Lindsay. "Hey, Warrick, can you um, tell the rest of the team?" she asked as she basically ran out of the room with the officer.

Warrick followed her. "Yeah, no problem. I'll be there in ten minutes," he said, then they went their separate directions. He found Nick and Sara in the lab. He ran in, and they instantly stopped what they were doing to listen to what they had to say. After he told them, they offered to tell Grissom. So his next destination was Catherine's house.

Getting into his car, he skidded out into the street, a car honking at him after he cut them off. He couldn't believe this. Things couldn't get any worse. Getting his cell phone, he dialed Brass's number. "Brass," he said after running a red light. "Catherine's mother was murdered, Lindsay's been kidnapped. The prime suspect is Gloria, Mr. Beam's ex-wife."

He was in Catherine's drive way in a matter of minutes, and got out of the car and walked inside, leaving his door open. Catherine was inside, sitting on the couch, her fingers entwined in her hair. Tears flew freely down her face, and every now and then she'd emit a sob.

"She's gone. Lindsay is gone, my mother is dead, who would do this to me?" she said, her voice quickly working up into a shout. She stood up. "They took my baby!"

Warrick felt his heart be torn apart as he watched her, so he just let her cry on him, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. He put his head down next to hers. "It'll be okay," he said softly. "We'll find her. We'll get Lindsay back." Catherine cried even harder, and Warrick noticed that more officers had shown up and were scanning the area, looking for clues.

"Catherine," Brass walked into the house, walking to Catherine with the deepest look of sympathy on his face. "Is there anywhere that you can stay while we process the scene?" he asked. He seemed to regret asking these questions, but he had to treat Catherine like everyone else.

Catherine shook her head. "My mother was the only one," she said, emitting a sob and bringing a hand to her mouth. The side of her head was pressed against Warrick's chest, but neither of them seemed to be paying attention.

"She can stay with me," Warrick said suddenly, not quite sure where that had come from. He supposed it could work, since his wife was now out of the house. This was when he realized that Catherine was still close to him, but he made no attempt to pull away. From the way that she still clamped so tightly onto his shirt, he knew that he was her support.

"No, no Warrick. I can't, I can't trouble you like that," she said, shaking her head and stepping away from him, a little wobbly on her feet. She looked around the house, sniffling. "Do we have anything, yet? I want every room searched, all the neighbor's interrogated, I want to know what everyone was doing the _second_ the bitch took my daughter and killed my mother," she said, walking away to ask an officer some questions.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Warrick?" Brass asked, glancing at him. "I'm sure she has friends she can stay with."

"No. She needs somebody that will-" he broke off. _Do anything for her._ "Be able to fill her in on a regular basis about what's going on," he finished after a moment of thinking.

Brass nodded, then walked away to give instructions to an officer.

"Warrick."

Nick and Sara walked in, followed by Grissom. They all had their kits in hand, and Grissom and Sara went to work immediately. Nick walked up to Warrick, and they watched Catherine bark orders at an officer. "I'm sorry that we couldn't get here earlier man," Nick said. "Sara and I had to do some work on our case, and Gris was working on his too. We told Hodges to take his time on getting the results to the samples we sent him," he said, setting down his kit. He nodded towards Catherine. "How's she holding up?"

Warrick followed his gaze, sighing heavily. "The best she can do, I mean her mother was murdered right after Sam, and then Lindsay was kidnapped for the second time in three months," he said, shaking his head in disgust. "She's just been through so much, and I don't know how much longer she can hold up." It seemed the moment he was done talking Catherine broke into another fit of sobs. Warrick hurried to comfort her again, whispering words of comfort to her and holding her tightly.


	7. Moving In

It was seven in the morning, and Warrick was tired as hell. In the last three days, he received about two hours of sleep total. But he still drove home, forcing himself to stay awake. He had a passenger.

Catherine was leaning against the door, fast asleep. She had almost worked herself to death trying to find her daughter. Every now and again, she'd break down and Warrick would be right there to comfort her. But as the night had gone on, she broke down less and less often; her despair had turned into fuel to keep her going for eight hours straight. With her determination and her words to motivate her co-workers, they had found out a lot in very little time.

They've had numerous calls from neighbors saying that they saw a woman and Lindsay get into a car and drive off. Unfortunately, no one got the license plate number. But they had a watch on a small, black Toyota. It was better than nothing. They also had a note from the kidnaper, and fingerprints all over the scene concluded that the kidnaper was defiantly Gloria. An amber alert would be on every news station this morning.

Pulling into his driveway, he sighed heavily at the empty spot in the garage next to his. As he parked the car, Catherine stirred.

"Hey," she said groggily, sitting up straight. She yawned, blinking a few times before smiling sheepishly. "Sorry for blacking out like that, I shouldn't of-"

"It's alright," Warrick said, dismissing her apology with a wave of his hand. "You have too much too worry about," he said, getting out of his car. He walked to the back and opened the backdoor to his truck. He took out Catherine's bag, then walked to the other side and opened Catherine's door. He held out his hand and helped her out.

She was unsteady on her feet. She managed to get inside, however, with the help of Warrick. After that, she had wakened up a little more, and she walked around his living room. "Nice place," she said, wandering around the room.

It was a warm feeling place. She liked the light tan carpet, and the dark brown couches and wooden walls. There wasn't very many decorations, just a few pictures and such. But the simplicity of it was very relaxing.

"Nice place," she said, wandering into the kitchen. She loved everything here. Lindsay would've liked it here. The thought of Lindsay gave her horrible images: her daughter whimpering in a cold, dark room. She went back into the living room, slumping onto the couch and entwining her fingers in her hair.

Warrick came in a moment later, probably just getting back from putting her bags into the guest room. He sat down on the couch next to her.

"Warrick," she said, a tear rolling down her cheek. "I must be the worst mother in the-"

"Hey," he said, wrapping an arm around her and rubbing her arm in comfort. "It's not your fault, Cath," he said. "It comes with the job. Everyone has had something happen to them. You, Gris, Nick, Sara," he said.

"Not you."

Warrick pondered over those words for a second. He never _had_ bad things happen to him due to work. Besides his divorce, anyway.

"You haven't felt the pain, knowing that this is happening to you because of your _job_," she said, shaking her head in dismay.

Warrick sighed heavily. "I feel it more than you know," he said, then stood up. "I'll show you where your room is," he said, holding out his hand.

Catherine grabbed it, and he hauled her to her feet. She followed him down the hallway, wondering what he had meant by _I feel it more than you know_. Her first thought was the divorce she wasn't supposed to know about. He seemed fine, he hadn't broken down or even mentioned it when he was with Catherine.

"Here," he said, stopping at the door and motioning for her to go in. She did, and she looked around the room with a weak smile. There was a large bed along the far wall, and a chair in the corner next to the bookcase. There was a wooden cabinet on the wall also, probably containing his clothes. She knew that this was his room. "Warrick, I don't want to intrude. Look, I'll go stay with a friend or something. I'll-"

"Cath," Warrick said, grabbing her shoulders. "It's okay, I'd prefer to have you here, rather than anything else," he said slowly, determined to nail it into her brain. Truthfully, he was a bit nervous about the situation. The suspect had to have something wrong with her, but she was able to track Catherine down. He imagined that if she tried, Gloria could be on his doorstep. Catherine needed to be protected.

Smiling weakly, she nodded. "But where are you going to sleep?" She didn't want him to sleep on the floor or anything, who knew how long she'd be here.

"That couch isn't there just for looks," he said with a smile, letting her go.

Catherine laughed a little. Looking around the room for a few seconds, she then looked back at Warrick with a smile. "Wake me up at noon, okay?" she asked, making Warrick glance at the clock. It was 9 a.m.

"Sure," he said, nodding. He turned to leave the room, but Catherine's voice stopped him.

"Warrick?" she said, looking at his retreating back.

"Yeah?" he answered, stopping and turning around.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

He nodded, then shut the door behind him and went out into the living room. Sitting on the couch, he sighed heavily. Catherine would be here at least a week, if not longer. Catherine wanted to make sure every inch of her house was processed before she even thought of moving back in.

The case was difficult. It wasn't that the suspect, Gloria, was skilled or that she covered her tracks; but she just disappeared. No one had any information that the CSI's didn't know already. But an amber alert had been broadcasted, and all calls went to Brass himself.

Opening a folder with the information gathered on the kidnapping so far, Warrick took out a picture of Lindsay. He smiled at the grin on the teen's face. "We'll find you, Lindsay," he said softly. "We'll find you."


End file.
